


Not quite a fight

by My_Beating_Hart



Series: A Mahariel's Travels [41]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: (sort of), Banter, Bar Room Brawl, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Plans For The Future
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-01
Updated: 2015-02-01
Packaged: 2018-03-10 01:08:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3271121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Beating_Hart/pseuds/My_Beating_Hart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A scuffle in a bar causes Theron to reflect on the bonds he's forged and the future of the group.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not quite a fight

Rather than spend their final night in Denerim having a meal the the Arl’s estate, the group had decided to return to the Gnawed Noble for something more befitting a ragtag group. They would be travelling across Ferelden once more, to help eradicate the last darkspawn stragglers or chase them back to the Deep Roads. After that, most likely they would begin to split up, to go their separate ways once more. 

As Theron looked around the table, at the group talking and laughing over their drinks, he realised this celebration was almost bittersweet, even though they would be together on the road once more in the morning. The ranger leaned back slightly in his seat, content to listen rather than participate in any of the conversations. The tavern was busy, but then again it often was no matter the time of day or night.

Two _shemlen_ wandered past on their way to find an unoccupied table, and Theron stilled when he heard one of them mutter “Knife-ear and oxmen bastards.” to the other, too drunk to realise how loud he was being.

A glance round the rest of the group showed that they’d all heard. Sten blinked at the humans’ backs, but showed no sign of being offended. Theron sighed and looked down at his tankard while Zevran muttered a choice insult back under his breath that would have made Oghren laugh until he choked and drawn Wynne’s wrath.

“They’re too drunk.” The Antivan commented when he saw the ranger continue to stare at the table. All the same, the group watched as the two men found a table that was unfortunately close enough to be within earshot. After calling for a fresh round of drinks, the two _shemlen_ spotted the group again and began a discussion of their own that wasn't lost to the babble of other conversations.

The mood at Theron’s table soon lost it’s celebratory glow, and Wynne began to glare daggers while Alistair and Leliana shifted uncomfortably. To his credit, Theron was trying his best to ignore the snippets of conversation he could overhear far too easily, and was aware of Alistair giving him the occasional concerned look.

“Perhaps we should move elsewhere?” Leliana suggested.

“Where to?” Theron replied, looking up at the redhead sitting across the table. “The tavern’s full, and it’s probably the same for any of the others nearby.” He shook his head slowly. “It’s not worth it.”

“We could cut out their tongues and stop their ceaseless braying.” Sten offered calmly, drawing a few dryly amused looks from the party members with less than good morals.

“Sadly, mutilation cannot solve all of life’s problems.” Zevran sighed, resting a hand on Theron’s knee under the table. There was nothing seductive about the action, not tonight, but it was more a gesture of reassurance.

“I could go have a word with them?” Alistair shrugged, looking over at the two men. Their conversation seemed to be disrupting some of the other patrons as well, judging from a look at the tables closest.

“If you want.” Theron shrugged, taking a drink from his tankard and trying to appear as uninterested as possible with limited success.

The ex-Templar nodded, chair scraping over the floor as he pushed it back and stood up. The group watched curiously as he went over to the two laughing men. They shut up as he spoke, and words were quickly exchanged. Theron raised an eyebrow when one of the men suddenly punched Alistair hard on the cheek, enough to send him stumbling back a pace or two cradling his jaw.

Sten was the first to his feet, glowering at the two men in warning as he towered behind Alistair. Oghren stayed put, too absorbed in his tankard to even realise the cause of the sudden tension in the air, or that everyone else was on their feet.

"And here I thought we could all get along." Alistair lamented as he stepped back towards his table, rubbing at his cheek.

"Should we let them know they decided to insult the wrong group?" Leliana suggested.

"Two drunks against at least five people who've spent the past year fighting darkspawn together? That's hardly a fair fight." Zevran pointed out, but he tapped his fingers against the hilts of his daggers in longing.

"Agreed." Wynne nodded, observing her side of the standoff closely, the way the other patrons were talking uneasily, and some nearby were even cautiously edging away.

"Do we really want to cause a scene on our last night in Denerim?" Alistair sighed, glancing back at the group.

"It'd be something to laugh about later." Theron smirked, hand on the wood of his bow.

The barkeeper stormed over before any action could be taken, however.

"I don't care about the details, but if anyone here starts a fight, the whole lot of you'll be kicked out." She warned, folding her arms over her chest as she glared from the two men to the group and back. Somewhat reluctantly, everyone returned to their seats. Zevran looked the most disappointed.

"He didn't even punch very hard." Alistair commented, picking his tankard up again.

"That's because you're used to being punched by stronger opponents rather than men who’ve drank more ale than they have sense."

"What'd I miss?" Oghren suddenly asked, resurfacing from his dregs with a belch. Theron narrowed his eyes slightly in disgust.

"A parade of fine dwarven women clad only in flowers." Zevran supplied casually as he rested his chin in one hand, and Wynne rolled her eyes.

"Ha! If only." The dwarf shook his head, sending flecks of alcohol from his beard.

The two drunk men were still talking loudly as Theron excused himself from the table and easy chatter.

"Oi, knife-ear!" One of them called when he walked past. The ranger took a breath, but kept walking to the bar.

"Hm, he took that rather well." Alistair noted, craning his head to watch his fellow Grey Warden disappear through the crowds.

"Did he?" Leliana asked, pleasantly surprised.

"Maybe he's learning to keep that kind of talk beneath him rather than rise to it?" Wynne speculated optimistically, smiling in faint pride.

"I hope so."

Alistair sat back, still keeping an eye out for the Dalish elf as Wynne and Leliana discussed Orlais and the Chantry, and Zevran taught Oghren just how many rude jokes one could get out of the name 'Deep Roads' alone.

"There he is." Sten nodded a few minutes later towards the elf, who'd managed to almost make it back to the table without Alistair seeing him. They watched, Alistair in growing confusion as rather than keep walking, Theron paused by the drunkards' table.

"Oh, no-" Alistair began without even realising it as, without missing a beat, Theron drew his bow, gripped it tightly on one hand, and punched one of the men hard enough that he fell backwards off his stool onto the floor. There was a second of silence, and Zevran began to cackle as Theron whirled to punch the other man, leaving both of them gasping in shock on the floor, one of the men cupping his broken nose with bloodstained fingers.

The ranger shouldered his bow again, absently rubbing at his knuckles as he sat back down at the table demurely, seemingly oblivious to the surprised reactions from most of the rest of the group, or indeed the tables around them. He looked around, and quirked an eyebrow.

"What?" He asked, quickly downing the rest of his drink - using the hand that wasn't throbbing.

"This tavern was getting crowded anyway, _mi amor_." Zevran said, biting his lip to stop himself from laughing anew, and he waved off the irate-looking barkeep who had started to descend on them again like a high dragon. It was quickly decided that the two elves would leave first and as soon as possible, and that it would take far more time and willpower than all of them had to remove Oghren from his seat, and no-one wanted to take his three quarters full tankard away from him anyway.

 

"So, you punched them because they insulted you, yes?" Zevran asked as they made their way back to the estate, hands brushing as they walked close together. Theron sniffed at the cool spring air, almost too cold after the warmth and stuffiness of the tavern, and shook his head.

"No, I punched them because they punched Alistair." The ranger answered, flexing his fingers distractedly. He grinned when he saw the blond's surprised look. "Alright, yes, the insults were part of it as well." He admitted.

Zevran chuckled.

"I feel a little cheated. It wasn't quite a bar fight, was it?" The Antivan sighed. "It's never a memorable night in a tavern unless it ends with someone rolling on the floor in pain."

"Next time I'll let you do the punching, then." Theron offered, still grinning.

They were quiet again, wandering down a street that would take them to the marketplace that would be empty this time of night.

"I'm surprised that everyone stood up when Alistair got hit."

Zevran glanced across at the black-haired elf.

"When you fight beside someone for over a year, you do tend to become concerned about their continued health, even if it was just a sloppy fist to the cheek."

"I know. It's interesting to see how close we've all grown over the year."

"Is your hand okay?" The Antivan queried, and the Dalish elf nodded.

"Hurts a little, but it'll be fine tomorrow. Probably the same as Alistair."

They were quiet as they cut through the empty marketplace, neither of them wanting to end the comfortable silence.

“I can’t stop thinking about what’ll happen when our group begins to go their separate ways, once we’re finished hounding the darkspawn.” Theron admitted to the quiet night air as he looked up towards the sky. “We’ll go to Antiva, Wynne will come back here to Denerim, Sten will go back to Par Vollen, and I doubt any of us will hear from him again, Alistair will go to Vigil’s Keep…” He sighed heavily, and looked down at his feet. “It feels strange to say it, but the Blight brought us all together.”

Zevran smiled, and nodded agreement.

“It must feel odd indeed, knowing that the people you have spent a year with will drift away to other things. But such is life, regrettably.”

“Very odd.” Theron hesitated before he spoke again. “Truthfully, it’s probably going to feel like I’m leaving my clan again - not quite as traumatic, but just as sad.” He risked a glance at Zevran, who was looking back in curious sympathy as they reached the Arl’s estate at last. “Dalish clans are so tightly knit, I found it difficult not to think of this group as a replacement after I had to leave mine. And now we’re eventually going to separate, and I won’t have a clan again...” The black-haired elf explained as they walked slowly through the large rooms back to their bedroom.

“It must be difficult for you.” Zevran answered gently. “But the group will stay together as long as these darkspawn stragglers are about. And besides, you will have me for company once the others carry on with their lives.” He grinned, and Theron chuckled softly.

“That is true.” The ranger smiled. “I’ll always have you.”

“I am yours, _mi amor_. Never doubt that.”

The two paused outside the door to their bedroom, and leaned forwards to begin a gentle kiss, the first of many that night.

They would always have each other, no matter what happened.

**Author's Note:**

> Aaand, that's it. For now, at least.  
> Thanks to everyone who's enjoyed this series!  
> I'll have various scraps and possible post-game pieces to put up over the coming days, but they'll be in their own separate collections.


End file.
